


I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

by fanoftheknight



Series: Indiana Jorleesi Universe [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Curses, Dreams, F/M, Fate, Historical AU, Jorleesi Bingo, Scars, Temples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23732554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanoftheknight/pseuds/fanoftheknight
Summary: Jorah Mormont is a down-on-his-luck ex-military man. One day, Viserys Targaryen offers him a deal he can't refuse - providing the muscle on the man's treasure-hunting quests in exchange for a piece of the profit.Nothing could go wrong, could it?
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Indiana Jorleesi Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824094
Comments: 68
Kudos: 48
Collections: Jorleesi Bingo Challenge





	1. Misinformation

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lodessa for creating another fantastic writing project for us to get our teeth sunk into!
> 
> The following story was inspired by the following 5 elements:
> 
> • Viserys  
> • Quarantine  
> • Scars  
> • Mistranslation  
> • Historical Time Period (late 1800s, several years after the end of the Anglo-Zulu war.)
> 
> Thanks also go to SlytherinHowl for the beta read and sense-check and also for talking me out of posting this without the two working titles I had originally created for this story!
> 
> • Daenerys Targaryen and The Temple of the Bow-Chicka-Boom-Boom  
> • Jorah Mormont - Womb Raider

“Well, that didn’t exactly go as planned,” Jorah Mormont, former captain in the British Army said dryly as he turned to the woman standing next to him.

“The scroll said, ‘Into the depths you must seek the gold and the glories of which you speak.’” Daenerys Targaryen, seasoned traveler and explorer replied, confusion etched across her features.

Jorah brushed sand and dirt from his shoulders as well as the sticky substance that seemed to cling to the faded yellow fabric of his shirt. Dressed in shirt, heavy-duty trousers and braces that looped from hip to shoulder, long black boots and custom-made weapons belt, he looked every inch the gung-ho action man.

“Remind me again who translated that damn thing?” Jorah asked, flicking remnants of the black sticky substance from his hands and arms as they trudged wearily back to their horses. They had spent most of the day tracking down the correct ancient glyphs and Daenerys had been certain that the pyramid-shaped building they’d just barely escaped was correct, according to the map and scrolls that she’d brought with her for the expedition.

“Viserys,” she said quietly, knowing that her traveling companion was less than enamoured with her prickly brother.

Viserys might not be brave, but he was a cunning fellow and once he heard of former captain Jorah Mormont’s financial woes, Viserys was quick to make Jorah an offer that he could ill afford to refuse.

The deal was simple: Jorah was to provide the ‘muscle’ and protection for Viserys and his sister Daenerys, who using their inheritance from their father’s estate, had begun travelling the world in seek of adventure and further riches.

Well, Viserys was in it for the money, Daenerys had no illusions about that, but for her the lure of discovering long-hidden artefacts from ancient civilisations was the fuel that kept her own desire burning bright.

As for what Jorah got out of this, Daenerys wasn’t entirely sure. The man was sullen and broody most of the time, especially any time Viserys was near. It was clear that Jorah held a barely-hidden contempt for her brother which was understandable given the way Viserys spoke to him, treating him barely any better than he had the puppy they’d shared when they were children. It wouldn’t take much for Jorah to finally snap and bite at the hand that fed him as far as Viserys was concerned.

Viserys had declined to join them today and instead decided to remain in the village along with many of the locals and the assorted servants her brother had brought along to cater to his every whim. He made no bones about having slaves and treating them as such, even though the thought of treating another so inhumanely did not sit well with Daenerys.

Viserys’ absence gave Daenerys the chance to talk to Jorah without being interrupted and she was surprised at how articulate and knowledgeable he was about a great many things. When spoken to politely, she found the former military man was much more than a hired hand and mercenary who spoke only with his fists. 

“And you’re sure he translated the text correctly?” Jorah asked tersely. His whole body was aching after tumbling down the steps at the entrance of the building as they attempted to make their escape. The text promised riches and gold but they found nothing except skeletons and several carefully-set booby traps. The only saving grace of his tumble was that he had at least broken Daenerys’ fall with his own body, protecting her from injury or harm.

“I think so,” Daenerys replied quietly as their horses trudged slowly back to camp.

Jorah suddenly felt like an ass for being so blunt with Daenerys, it wasn’t her fault that they’d almost died in that godforsaken tomb. If anyone was to blame for the whole debacle, it was that spineless brother of hers. He’d give the little weasel a piece of his mind as soon as they made it back to the village that evening.

* * *

As the sun began to set hours later, Daenerys and Jorah finally made it back to the village. The reception they received was not the one they were expecting. Several of the young warrior men in the village were staring at them, holding their spears out in a gesture of aggression.

“We are friends,” Daenerys tried to say in a language foreign and unknown to her. She knew only a few words of the local dialect. 

The villagers took a step closer to the two travellers, raising their spears once more. It was enough for Jorah to reach for one of the pistols strapped to his belt.

“We’re not looking for a fight,” Jorah spoke in the common tongue. It was unlikely the villagers would understand his words, but he hoped his body language conveyed that he and Daenerys were no threat.

His words seemed to have the opposite effect on the villagers as one of the elders made a high-pitched noise that the younger men responded to with chanting.

Jorah looked over his shoulder to find that their horses were surrounded on all sides. If things turned nasty, he would find a way to get Daenerys to safety first, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

The villagers stepped closer still and Jorah cocked his pistol, ready to fire at the first man who came any closer.

“Stop!”

Daenerys turned at the sound of the soft female voice. It was that of their local translator, Missandei.

“Missandei,” Daenerys said, breathing a sigh of relief. “What’s going on?”

The young translator spoke a few words to the village elder who nodded his head and signalled for his men to stand down.

Missandei made her way over to Daenerys, holding her hand out. “May I see the scroll you took on your expedition?” She asked.

Daenerys fumbled in the pack she’d attached to her horse and handed it over. She watched as Missandei read through the text, the frown on her face telling Daenerys that whatever the young woman had read spelled bad news.

“Who translated this for you?” Missandei asked.

Daenerys shot Jorah a guilty look. “Viserys. My brother - he told me that it was written in High Valyrian?”

Missandei gave a slight shake of the head. Despite only being a young village girl, she had learned a great many different languages from across the world and her help had been invaluable in allowing Daenerys, her brother, and Jorah to stay in the village for these past few days.

“I am afraid that I must respectfully advise you that Master Viserys was incorrect. The scroll is written in the Quarthian language.” Missandei handed the scroll back to Daenerys. “It is a simple mistake to make if one does not know the small differences between the two.”

“So what did the scroll say?” Jorah asked wearily, having finally placed his pistol back in its holster.

Missandei opened her mouth to speak and faltered.

Jorah picked up on her hesitation instantly. “My lady, what did the scroll say?” He asked, more insistent this time.

Missandei kept her gaze on the ground, her hands clasped in front of her. 

“The scroll says that anyone who enters the sacred ground and disturbs its soil will be punished accordingly.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Daenerys asked, feeling her mouth go dry as she shot a worried look in Jorah’s direction.

Missandei paused as the village elder whispered something in her ear.

“Legend has it that a great warrior was laid to rest in the tomb and the ground consecrated by blood magic and that anyone who disturbs the warrior’s rest will, after two days and nights, rise as a ghoul so foul that even death fears its presence.”

Jorah snorted at the idea. “That’s absolute nonsense. It’s just a fairy tale told to children to scare them. There is no such thing as blood magic, ghouls or curses.”

Missandei leaned toward the village elder, nodding at his words.

“While you have been kind and generous with your gifts during your stay in our village, we cannot allow you to leave until we are certain that you have not been cursed.”

“What are you suggesting?” Jorah asked, warily.

Missandei smiled, trying to appease the weary explorers. 

“We have prepared lodgings for you at the far end of the village. You will be required to spend two days and two nights there. You will be brought fresh water and food daily, but any attempts to leave…you will be killed on sight.”

“And if we don’t agree?” Jorah asked, his fingers ghosting over his gun holster once more.

“We cannot let you leave,” Missandei replied. “We will use any and all force necessary to ensure you stay. The risk to our village is much too high should the ghoul be awakened. Please, dismount your horses.”

Daenerys looked at Jorah. “It doesn’t seem like we have a choice,” she said, climbing down from her horse.

“We must ask you to hand over your weapons. They will be returned to you should the prophecy prove to be false.”

Grumbling, Jorah handed over his pistols and the hunting knife attached to his belt.

“All of your weapons,” Missandei repeated, watching as Jorah reluctantly pulled a knife from each of his boots.”

“I just have one question,” Jorah said as he and Daenerys followed Missandei to the building that was to be their home for the next 48 hours. “Where the hell is Viserys?”

“I am afraid that he has not been seen for hours, he left no trace of his belongings in his quarters. It appears that he has left most suddenly,” Missandei replied.

“Great,” Jorah mumbled. “Just fucking great.”


	2. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck together in a cramped space, will Jorah and Daenerys take the time to get to know one another a little better?

Jorah had been silent during the long trek to the brick and clay building that was to be their lodgings for the next two days and Daenerys could tell by the look on his face that he was seething. She could see it in the set of his jaw and the way his eyes narrowed, looking for any sign of Viserys.

Missandei opened the door and ushered them inside, showing them first the wash room and then the living quarters. The building was barely large enough for one person, let alone two, but weaponless and defenceless, they had no choice but to agree to the villagers terms.

As Missandei was about to leave, Jorah asked, “If the prophecy is true and this ‘ghoul’ arises, what will you do?”

Missandei looked uncomfortable at the question. “We will set fire to this place and everything in it. The demon will need souls to feast on in order to be at full strength. We will not give it the chance to do so.”

“So, one or both of us are going to be consumed by a demon and then burned alive?” Jorah muttered to himself. “Fucking fabulous.”

Missandei bowed her head, understanding why the foreign man was displeased.

“You will find food is plentiful, we will return with more on the morrow. If you need more water for bathing, call to the guard at the door and it will be fetched for you.”

“Well, at least we’ll be clean and well-fed before we die,” Jorah grumbled as Missandei backed out of the doorway, locking it with a large iron key.

“Don’t take it out on her,” Daenerys said, crossing her arms in frustration. “It’s not her fault.”

Jorah huffed, “Oh, don’t worry, I know exactly whose fault this is!” He shot back, raising his voice.

“Meaning?”

“That fucking useless brother of yours. How could he have gotten it so wrong?”

Although she was inclined to agree with Jorah as to who was to blame for this mess, Daenerys felt the need to stick up for her brother.

“The translator said that anyone could have made that mistake and it’s not like he did it deliberately!”

Jorah let out a humourless laugh as he paced the room. “Really?” He sneered. “Then where is the little weasel then?”

Daenerys opened her mouth to reply then realised that she had no response. Viserys had upped and left and she had no idea where he might be hiding.

“Demon or not, when I get out of here, I’m going to track that little shit down and wring his neck personally.”

Stung by Jorah’s terse tone and more than a little unnerved by the prophecy, Daenerys responded in the only way she knew how - by going on the attack.

“Yeah, well, two days stuck with you and I might wring your neck first, you arsehole!”

Jorah looked almost taken aback by her as a momentary flash of hurt crossed his weathered features.

“When this is over, whatever the arrangement the three of us had is done. I don’t want to ever see you or your brother again.”

This time it was Daenerys’ turn to feel wounded. She’d found herself beginning to enjoy Jorah’s company before today’s shit-show had begun.

“Fine by me!”

Jorah nodded his head, his hands on his hips. “Fine,” he repeated, moving into the small kitchen area, desperate to put space between them.

* * *

They moved around the small house for hours, barely acknowledging each other’s existence, but at least Jorah was courteous enough to allow Daenerys first use of the washroom which was separated from the rest of the building by no more than a curtain of fabric.

She spent more time than was necessary scrubbing the grime and filth from her body before dressing in the clean clothes they had been provided. The cotton dress wasn’t the type of outfit she usually wore. She tended to prefer fitted shirts and trousers, not frilly gowns or evening dresses that the posh folk on the mainland wore to their balls and ballets.

When Daenerys returned to the living area, she saw Jorah sitting at the table with a piece of parchment and a pencil in his right hand. Whatever he was doing, he seemed engrossed in the task, so much so that he failed to hear her enter at first.

The sound of Daenerys clearing her throat caught his attention and he put the pencil down quickly and stood. Despite their earlier disagreement, Jorah had been brought up to show courtesy to women whenever they entered the room. He might be angry with her, but he would not allow that to get in the way of his manners.

“My lady,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

His harsh words earlier still stung. She refused to let him off the hook so easily. He worked for her, he was not her equal and the way he had spoken to her any other man would have been severely punished for their outburst.

Yet he looked tired and worn and so she softened slightly at the sight of him.

“There is enough water for you to clean yourself up. I suggest you use it before it turns cold.”

He nodded his head, stepping out of the way to let her pass in the doorway.

With nothing better to do, Daenerys began selecting dried meats, fruit and bread for their evening meal. They had not eaten since leaving the village early that morning and Daenerys was ravenous and knew Jorah must have been too.

She frowned when her eyes landed on the piece of parchment Jorah had been scribbling on. Placing the plate of food down on the table, her eyes widened as she looked at what appeared to be some sort of horned man surrounded by half-rotten corpses with spears and swords, images oddly reminiscent of her own troubled dreams.

Why would he draw such a thing? 

She was well aware that he’d served during the war, but surely he’d never witnessed anything like the ghouls in his drawing. Were they the figments of his overworked imagination?

She brushed her hair back as it fell over her shoulders and into her face several times before she realised she had left her hair grips in the wash room. Still shaken from the images she’d found, she entered the wash room without thinking, gasping when she saw Jorah facing away from her, shirtless, his heavily-scarred back a mess of long-healed welts.

The sound of her gasp made Jorah turn quickly, Daenerys’ hand shot to her mouth as she saw that some of those scars ran towards his chest and left arm.

“Apologies, my lady,” he said as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I was not aware you were in the room.”

Daenerys stood there for a number of moments, dumfounded and unsure what to say. She quickly grabbed her hair grips and left the room without saying a word.

“I made us some supper,” Daenerys said quietly as she heard Jorah enter the living area a while later. She avoided making eye contact with him as he sat opposite her, taking a long draught of the cup of water she’d poured for both of them.

They sat in silence as they ate, and it was Jorah who finally spoke.

“My apologies, my lady,” he said. “I didn’t not mean to frighten you earlier.”

The ire in his tone from earlier was gone and replaced with a resigned sadness.

Daenerys shook her head. “I should not have entered without asking. It was rude of me.”

Jorah gave a quick nod of the head as he tore off another piece of bread and popped it in his mouth, chewing it slowly.

“I know it is unfair of me to ask,” Daenerys began nervously, unsure as to how Jorah would react to her next words. “Those marks, how did they happen?”

Daenerys held her breath as Jorah stilled at the question, his eyes closing as if he were reliving something from the past.

“I am not sure it is a story you wish to hear. It is bleak to say the least.”

Daenerys tore a piece of bread for herself. “If we are to be here together for the next two nights, we may as well get to know one another a little better.”

Jorah ran a hand over his beard. “If you are expecting a tale of great valour and courage, I’m afraid I will leave you wanting.”

She reached out a hand, squeezing his arm lightly. “I wish to know because I want to get to know you better, Jorah. Someone has caused you great harm, I wish to know why.”

He shook his head sadly. “Talking about it will not change what happened.”

She squeezed his arm again. “But it may make you feel better to unburden yourself and I am a willing ear.” She took a sip of her water. “Have you spoken to anyone about it?”

He shook his head again. “It is not the kind of thing that tends to come up in polite conversation.”

She smiled at that. “I think we’re well past polite conversation, considering our cross words from earlier.”

“My apologies,” Jorah replied, looking slightly chastened. “I should not have raised my voice or spoken to you in that manner. I am in your employ; I am not your equal.”

“I will accept your apology and speak no more about it if you tell me what happened,” she said before adding, “please.”

“I was a captain in the British Army during the war,” he began, twirling his cup of water on the table. “It was a bloody battle and there were a number of atrocities on both sides. No one came out of that war a better man, believe me.”

Daenerys said nothing and waited for him to continue.

“I had a unit of ten men with me on a manoeuvre one day when we walked into a trap our enemy had set. We were greatly outnumbered and after many of my men died, we had no choice but to surrender. I was sure they would kill us where we stood, but instead they took us back to their camp.

They saw the stripes on my uniform and knew that I was the leader. To them, I was the very embodiment of the British colonial system and every callous act of oppression towards the people indigenous to those lands.

It was just myself and two of my men that survived the initial ambush. While they fed my men and tended to their wounds, they tied my hands around the trunk of a tree and told me I would receive two lashes for every man from his village that the British had killed.”

Daenerys was speechless. She felt her mouth go dry.

“How many?” She asked, finally finding her voice.

Jorah closed his eyes and swallowed deeply. 

“Twenty-three of his men had been killed.”

Daenerys quickly did the maths, a gasp escaping her as she realised how much punishment Jorah must have received.

“I’m not sure how many lashes I received,” Jorah said quietly. “I remember my feet slipping in my own blood as I tried to stay upright. A while later I heard the sound of gunfire…I have a few vague memories of being aboard a ship before I woke up in a hospital back home. I have not worn that uniform since."

Try as she might, Daenerys couldn’t keep the look of shock from her features and Jorah picked up on it immediately.

“I apologise, my lady, but it is late and I am tired. This was perhaps not the best time to have such a conversation. I am going to retire for the evening.”

Daenerys frowned. “There’s only one bed.”

“Which you should take,” Jorah replied. “It will not be the first night that I’ve spent sleeping on the floor.”

It was dark and so after clearing the plates from the table, Daenerys blew out the candles, bidding Jorah a good night.

“Thank you,” she whispered, not sure whether he heard her as she walked toward the building’s only bed.

Having survived such an ordeal, it was no wonder Jorah’s imagination brought forth such images and while she had been fearing ghouls and curses, the man lying on the cold, hard floor only a few feet away from her had experienced many of life’s horrors first-hand.

Just what was it that drove Jorah Mormont? Was it in search of fame or fortune, to discover ancient civilisations or to outrun a past that he desperately wanted to forget?

As her eyes fluttered closed and sleep took her in its gentle embrace, Daenerys promised herself that she would find out more about this mysterious man and just what had happened to bring him into her life.


	3. Fevered Dreams

_She carefully removed the wrapping paper, lifting the small box and looking at the man she loved. She assumed that he had bought her some sort of expensive jewellery._

_“You shouldn’t have,” she said as tears glistened in her eyes. She didn’t deserve the generosity of this wonderful man._

_He smiled shyly at her. “Open it.”_

_She had expected a necklace or a bracelet. Instead, nestled snugly inside the box was a set of keys - house keys._

_She felt her bottom lip tremble as Jorah knelt on one knee on the floor, taking the keys from the box and laying them reverently in her open palm._

_“Daenerys Targaryen, would you make me the happiest man alive and do me the honour of officially moving in with me?”_

_Without needing a second to think about it, she launched herself into his arms._

_“Yes. Oh god, yes!”_

Daenerys woke with a start, hearing the movement of someone in the living area and realising that it was the man from her dreams. Why did she keep dreaming of the man she was currently stuck with?

They had exchanged terse words yesterday and even as the frost between them began to thaw, they were still careful and measured in their conversations. They certainly were not familiar enough with each for Daenerys to be dreaming of him, that was for certain. She hadn’t had a dream like that for…

A soft call of ‘breakfast is ready’ shook Daenerys from her thoughts.

Making sure she was decent, Daenerys entered the living area. Jorah gave her a shy smile as he brought a platter of dried meats and food to the table, along with a jug of fresh water.

“Did you sleep well, my lady?” He asked politely.

“Please, can we forgo the formalities?” she replied, taking a seat at the table. “Please, just call me Daenerys.”

He nodded his head slightly as he joined her at the table. “How did you sleep?” He asked, offering the platter of food to her before taking a selection of pieces for himself.

“Better than you, I dare say,” she responded.

Jorah shrugged. “You get used to it after a while,” he said between mouthfuls of food. “And at least I had a roof over my head this time."

“Jorah,” Daenerys said after they had finished their morning meal. “There is something I mean to ask you…about our conversation last night.”

He winced. “That was no talk for a lady’s ears. I apologise for upsetting you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You should know by now that I am no lady,” she replied quickly. “It’s just that…” she trailed off, her eyes gazing at something unseen in the distance.

“Daenerys?”

“It was brave of you to talk about your scars… I want to… I wish to tell you about my own.”

Jorah held the cup halfway to his mouth as if frozen in time. It took several moments for his mind to process what he’d heard.

Wordlessly, Daenerys moved her dress, baring her right shoulder on which a jagged scar sat.

“This was the first one,” she said, running her finger along the roughened skin. “After the death of my parents and my older brother Rhaegar, it was left to Viserys to look after me. He was several years older than I and he made sure that I knew who was in charge.”

Daenerys paused to take a gulp of water, her mouth drying quickly as she recalled the long-hidden memories from her past.

“He left me at home one day and I got bored and so I left our house and went to play with some children who were outside. I was so wrapped up in the games we were playing that I didn’t see him come home. When I came back in, he started throwing plates and dishes at me…when he was done doing that…he picked up one of the shards and cut me with it. He told me that no one would want to play with a scarred, ugly girl like me and that the next time he cut me…it would be on my face.”

Daenerys looked at Jorah with a sense of trepidation. She could tell by the way that his jaw flexed that he was trying to hold back from saying something.

Raising the bottom half of her dress to her knees, Daenerys revealed another long and jagged scar on her calf.

“This one was when I didn’t have his clothes washed and ready for him - “

Jorah held his hand up. “Daenerys…please…stop,” he said, his voice low. “If you show me one more mark that your brother has made…I will not be able to stop myself from killing him the next time I lay eyes on him.” Rising from his chair, Jorah began pacing the room. “Why have you stayed with him all this time?” He asked.

Daenerys shrugged her shoulders. “I had no one else…he’s the only family I have left.”

Jorah turned quickly, his eyes widening in surprise. “Family do not maim one another, Daenerys. Those are not the marks of a man who loves you.”

Daenerys smiled sadly. “Viserys has always been quick to tell me that no one can survive in this world alone. I am nothing without him.”

“You are everything without him,” Jorah replied quickly. “He is a fool to think that you need him.”

Her eyes dropped to the table and Daenerys felt slightly dizzy, unsure if the turn in the conversation had anything to do with it. She felt herself growing hotter as Jorah looked at her as if she were the only thing that existed in the world.

She began to feel uncomfortable under his gaze and stood from the table to collect the dishes. Without warning, her legs gave way underneath her and Daenerys felt herself falling…

Jorah was across the room in an instant, catching Daenerys in his arms as she fell. He brought her limp body closer to his chest as he carried her into the small bedroom, alarmed to feel how hot to the touch she was as he lay her down atop the sheets.

He shouted to whoever was guarding the house to send for help, waving his arms and gesticulating in frustration when the villager only looked at him with confusion.

The noise must have been heard in the main village as Missandei arrived several minutes later.

Jorah let out a sigh of relief when he saw her.

“Send for your medicine man, quickly!” He said, running a panicked hand through his hair as Daenerys mumbled something unintelligible.

Missandei shook her head sadly. “We cannot enter for fear that the curse will be brought up ourselves.”

“She’s not cursed, she’s sick!” Jorah shouted through the window.

“If this is the way of the curse, we must destroy the ghoul while it is still weakened.”

“What do you mean?” Jorah said, suddenly fearing the worst.

“Men from the village are preparing the fires that will cleanse the house and all those within it.”

“No,” Jorah shouted. “You can’t do that! Can’t you see that she’s sick?”

“The village elder has instructed the men to set the house alight within the hour. I am sorry,” Missandei said, her head bowed.

Jorah cast a worried look at Daenerys. 

“You said that the ghoul would awaken after two days and two nights, right?”

Missandei nodded. “That is was the ancient texts tell us.”

“Then give me until tonight, please,” he begged, grasping at any faint hope he could cling to. “If the fever hasn’t passed, I’ll set light to the place myself.”

“You will not be allowed to leave should you choose to do so,” Missandei cautioned.

Jorah nodded his head, sighing. “I know,” he replied, sitting down heavily on the bed next to Daenerys. “I won’t leave her here alone, cursed or not.”

Missandei leaned toward one of the village men, nodding her head and speaking in a language that Jorah could not understand.

“We will check back at nightfall,” she said, preparing to leave. “I wish you good fortune, sir.”

Jorah let out a deep sigh of relief. 

He had bought them a few hours at least.

* * *

As morning turned into afternoon, Jorah continued applying cold compresses to Daenerys’ forehead as she slept fitfully on the bed. At times, she mumbled odd words, her brow furrowing as if she were in distress. At a loss for what else to do, Jorah held her hand in his own and it seemed to be enough to quieten her to a more restful sleep.

In the short periods where Daenerys rested peacefully, Jorah began drawing on a piece of parchment, not giving much thought to the images he was creating. As the hours ticked by, he started praying to the gods that he had long since neglected to worship, begging them to show mercy and bring Daenerys back from her fevered state.

Ignoring the rumbling of his empty stomach, Jorah sat on the old rickety chair beside the bed, watching over the woman he barely knew yet suddenly felt so protective over. Had it been because she had showed him her own scars, or was it something more than a shared experience that had drawn her to him?

And why did he keep dreaming about her?

When late afternoon came and went, Jorah started to lose hope that either of them would come out of this alive. Resigning himself to his fate, he began mentally preparing himself for what must be done. He’d been flogged and maimed, would being burned alive in a building really be any different from the pain he’d endured in the past?

The pain would be infinitely worse, knowing that his demise would also signal that of the brave, vibrant young woman currently lying unmoving on the bed. Jorah closed his eyes, steeling himself to place the cushion over her face. If she had to die, he would make sure it was as painless as possible. 

She did not deserve to suffer.

Biting back a sob, Jorah closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. It wouldn’t be the first time he killed someone…

He lifted the cushion above his head, willing himself to do what was needed. He would not let this innocent young woman suffer any longer than she had to. He was doing what was best. She would thank him for it.

He took another deep, shaky breath, screwing his eyes shut…

“Urgh,” a distinct female voice uttered. “My head is killing me,” Daenerys said as she opened her eyes.


	4. Fearful Symmetry

Jorah dropped the cushion quickly, letting it fall to the floor with a thud.

“Daenerys!”

“What happened?” She asked, putting a hand to her forehead and groaning deeply. “The last thing I remember was breakfast.” Opening her eyes slowly, she looked around the room, noticing that it was almost dark. “How long have I been out?”

Jorah couldn’t keep the look of relief from his face. “Most of the day,” he answered, handing her a cup of water and commanding her to drink it slowly. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to wake up.”

Daenerys pulled herself into a sitting position, smiling her thanks as Jorah took the empty cup from her hands and placed it on the floor. She took a good look at him and noticed how tired and drained he appeared.

“Have you sat there all day?” She asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Pretty much,” he replied. “I wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Jorah looked at her intently as their eyes met, something powerful passing between them. He could feel himself getting lost in her eyes, the moment only breaking when Daenerys smiled at him.

“The brave and mighty Jorah Mormont worried about a woman he hardly knows?” She teased. “Who knew beneath all that bluster lay a heart of gold.”

She intended her words to be humorous. She didn't expect him to suddenly appear embarrassed and look away from her.

“Jorah,” she began, fearing that she’d upset him. Her words were cut off by the sound of people approaching the building.

Jorah shot to his feet and opened the door. “Don’t!” He shouted to the men holding flaming torches. His eyes found Missandei’s as she stood several feet away. “Missandei, tell the men to stand down,” he beseeched her. “There is no need, Daenerys is ok. See for yourself.”

One of the men peered through the opening of the bedroom window, looking intently at Daenerys. She gave him a shaky smile and a wave. “Hi,” she said, not entirely sure what was going on.

The man made his way back to Missandei and spoke to her.

“She is well?” Missandei asked. 

Jorah nodded.

“You are sure?”

“It must have been something she ate,” he replied, although if that had been the case he would likely have been sick too. “She is no ghoul, I swear.”

The men looked uneasy as the village elder spoke to Missandei.

“It is easy to make empty promises,” the translator began. “We have no more than your word that the demon has not yet arisen.”

“I swear to you on my mother’s memory that I speak the truth. If I am lying, may the gods in all their power banish me from ever seeing her sweet face again in the afterlife.”

Jorah waited impatiently for Missandei to translate his words to the village elder.

“We believe you to be an honourable man, Jorah Mormont,” Missandei replied. “We will leave for now but will return upon the morrow. Legend says that the ghoul could still arise by tomorrow’s sunrise. We wish you well, travellers.”

Relieved, Jorah gave his thanks as the village elder lead his men away from the house before returning to the bedroom.

Daenerys looked at him quizzically.

“What the hell was that about?” She asked, clearly confused.

Jorah sat down heavily in the chair, letting out a tired sigh.

“When you became sick, the villagers feared it was the curse. They wanted to burn this place down and everything in it. I convinced them to give you until nightfall and if you hadn’t woken…” His voice trailed off as he swallowed thickly. “I told them that I would do the deed myself and set fire to this godforsaken place.”

“With you and I in it?” She asked, her face paling.

“Aye,” Jorah nodded.

“Why?” She asked, fiddling with the corner of the blanket. “You could have left here and saved yourself.”

His head shot up to look at her. “I would never leave you here alone,” he said vehemently.

She reached for his hand, relieved when he didn’t try to stop her. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

The look on his face told Daenerys all she needed to know.

“Ever since Viserys brought you to our camp… there is something that draws us together.”

It suddenly all made sense to her, why Jorah had look so surprised when Viserys introduced them to each other, why he had been so quiet and placed so much distance between them.

Jorah refused to look at her, wringing his hands together uncomfortably. It was then that Daenerys laid eyes on the images he’d drawn while she’d been unconscious. She was shocked to find that he had drawn the three dragons from her dream exactly as they appeared to her. Not one detail was missing. He must have shared her dreams.

“How did you know?” Daenerys asked, picking up the parchment and marvelling at the detail. It must have taken him hours to reproduce the images from her dreams.

Jorah swallowed thickly. “Last night… I dreamt that there were three dragons soaring through the sky at your command.”

She gasped in surprise. In her dream, she had stood alongside Jorah and commanded the dragons to fly high into the sky.

“How long?” She asked, hoping her understood her meaning.

Jorah pinched the bridge of his nose. “Since I was a boy.” He let out a humourless huff. “The nannies who raised me after my mother’s death told me I would achieve nothing, that I would be one of life’s dreamers if I didn’t stop with my foolish notions.”

“Viserys always told me that I would one day go mad like my ancestors had. I tried to speak of my dreams once, but he slapped me in the face and told me never to mention them again. I’ve not told a soul since.”

Daenerys carefully pulled herself out of bed, only to find her legs shaking beneath her. Jorah caught her easily, supporting her until she felt strong enough to stand. He moved to release her, surprised to find her unwilling to break the contact between them.

Jorah swallowed thickly as she reached a hand to caress the side of his face, her fingers gliding gently over his ear and stubbled cheek. His breath caught in his throat as she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, achingly close to his mouth. He leant into her touch instinctively.

Still only mere inches apart, she smiled at him. “I feel you in here,” she said, pointing to her head. She pointed to her heart. “And I feel you here. Tell me, Jorah Mormont, do you feel it too?”

“You know I do,” he whispered.

“What will happen come the morning, will you leave here and never look back?” Daenerys bit her bottom lip.

“I will follow wherever you lead, Daenerys,” he replied. “My place is by your side, it always has been.”

She frowned. “But you could go home, be safe and live your life… find yourself a wife, have children.”

“I will fight for you, protect you…die for you if needs be.”

Daenerys shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. “I cannot ask that of you.”

He took her hands in his own, bringing them to his mouth and kissing them softly. “You cannot ask of something that is freely given. I will never leave you…I will never abandon you.”

She could neither doubt the sincerity of his words nor the look of devotion on his face. “What we feel, is this love?”

A look of pain flashed across Jorah’s face. “I have loved you from the moment I set eyes on you, Daenerys. I will love you for the rest of my days, however many there may be.”

Tears began to fill Daenerys’ eyes. “I am not sure I have ever known love, Viserys was not the kindest of teachers.”

Jorah gave her a sad smile. “When the sun rises and they are the first person you think of, when night falls and sleep claims you, when it physically hurts not to be near them…that’s when you know.”

He had described exactly what she felt. She knew without a doubt that she loved the man standing before her. Despite only knowing each other a matter of weeks, it felt as if she had known Jorah for a lifetime. There was something so natural about being with him that she could not bear the thought of him every being anywhere else then by her side.

She was woefully naive when it came to the physical manifestation of love. Her movements were clumsy and stilted, her experience telling her that loving another meant giving them her body.

He gently pulled her hands away as she fumbled with his shirt buttons.

“Do you not desire me?” She asked, clearly confused by his actions.

He looked at her intently. “You know I do.”

“Then what is wrong?”

Jorah took a couple of steps back, placing distance between them. “You have been unwell, it would not be right to take advantage, no matter how much I desire you. It is too soon to be thinking of such things.”

“I know my own mind, I am not a child,” she responded, her petulant tone displaying the opposite.

“As you will tomorrow, Daenerys,” Jorah replied. “If this is truly what you want, you will feel too on the morrow and every day after that. I will not allow you to do this merely because you think you should. You and I will both know when the time is right.”

She couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Will you at least join me in the bed, I do not want to be without you tonight.”

“Daenerys,” he warned.

“Just to sleep,” she said quickly. “I want you to hold me in your arms, please.”

Jorah realised that he was quickly falling under her spell, soon he would not be able to deny her anything.

“Fine,” he replied, guiding Daenerys towards the bed before laying down himself. 

Daenerys stopped him before he could reach the bed.

“Please, take off your shirt at least.”

“Daenerys - “

“Your scars may bother you, but they do not make me desire you any less, Jorah,” she told him as she held his gaze, giving him a shy smile as he relented and removed his shirt and climbed into her bed. She settled herself under his arm, laying her head on his chest. “I would like you to hold me until I fall asleep.”

He kissed the top of her head, knowing that he could deny her nothing. Neither in this life nor the next.


	5. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this little tale and I've had a lot of fun writing it, so much so that I am seriously considering writing a sequel...

Upon request from the village elder, Missandei peered through the bedroom window, not entirely sure what to expect. Would the ghoul have arisen, would one or both of the travellers be found dead?

There was no great storm or howling wind as the legend suggested might happen. The night’s passing was calm, only a soft breeze breaking the warmth of the evening.

It would have been foolish to enter through the front door, for Missandei did not know what would await her on the other side. Peering through the window would be the much safer option.

Missandei was unable to keep the smile from her face as she saw the two travellers lying underneath the covers and sleeping peacefully and wrapped in each other’s embrace. She nodded to the men guarding the hut to follow her back to the village.

The village elder would be pleased.

* * *

Jorah was the first to open his eyes. Stifling a yawn, he looked down at the young woman lying in his arms, his movements causing her to wake too. 

She looked up at his face, beaming. “That was the best night’s sleep I can remember in a long time,” she said, kissing his mouth.

“Mmmm,” he replied between chaste kisses, “me too.”

His dreams last night were much more pleasant and he had no doubt that it was due to having Daenerys so close by. For so many years, he had wandered across the world, hoping that one day he might meet the woman who haunted so many of his dreams. As much as he did not believe in such things, fate must have put each of them on a path to find the other. With Daenerys by his side, he no longer felt the creeping sense of unease. Her presence alone quelled the demons in his mind and signified that his place was by her side, until the end of his days.

Daenerys pouted as Jorah disengaged himself from her embrace and he gave her a sympathetic look. 

“You haven’t eaten for almost a day,” he said, pulling his shirt on and buttoning it up. “I’ll bring us some breakfast.”

The first thing to catch his attention was the lack of guards standing outside the hut, it was only then that Jorah realised that they must have slept longer than he originally thought. His eyes cast upon roll of parchment sitting on the table in the living area that hadn’t been there before. He opened it cautiously.

_Travellers,_

_We are most pleased that the legend has failed to come to pass._

_You are welcome to return to the village whenever you choose and our village elder would like you to join us at sundown for a feast in your honour. Your presence has been much welcomed and we extend our hospitality for as long as you wish to stay with us._

_Missandei_

Jorah smiled, placing the scroll down and preparing a tray of food for them both.

* * *

With their attendance only expected at sundown, it gave Jorah and Daenerys a chance to enjoy each other’s company without the fear of demons, ghouls or curses. They spent the day getting to know each other better, talking about their pasts and their hopes for the future while sharing chaste kisses in between.

“I feel like we should have dressed up,” Daenerys said, walking hand in hand with Jorah back to the main village.

They were dressed in the same clothes they’d changed into two days previously.

“Well, I don’t think there’s much to salvage from our old clothes,” Jorah replied with a grin. “Besides, I think wearing a dress becomes you.”

She rolled her eyes at him. 

“I’m getting a new shirt and trousers as soon as we get out of here and I can find a tailor.”

Jorah chuckled.

“Travellers,” Missandei said as she approached them. “You are both well?”

Daenerys nodded. “We are,” she replied. “We slept very well and are rested for the long journey ahead.”

Missandei looked disappointed. “You will be leaving us soon?”

“We do not want to overstay our welcome,” Jorah interjected. “You have already been much too kind to us.”

Missandei looked toward the village elder and then back to the travellers.

“You are most welcome to stay as long as you please,” she said, motioning for them to join the villagers around a large fire. The smell of the huge hog being roasted made Jorah’s stomach rumble audibly. “Come, sit,” Missandei instructed them, laughing as several of the village women sat as near to Daenerys as they could with the men doing the same to Jorah.

“The women wish to know more about your hair, Miss Targaryen,” Missandei explained at Daenerys’ confused expression.

“It is Daenerys, please,” the white-haired woman responded.

“We have never seen hair of such a colour, nor the way you braid it,” Missandei said. “Our womenfolk wish to know more, they would like you to teach them how to decorate their hair in such a way.”

“The menfolk do not want hair tips from me, I take it?” Jorah said, casting a wary eye at the young village boy who stroked the shoulder of his shirt and then sniffed his hand.

Missandei chuckled and shook her head. “They do, however, want you to tell them of your adventures so far. It has been said that you are quite the storyteller.”

Jorah felt a heat rise to his face, one that was not caused by the fire.

The village elder pointed at Jorah and smiled as Missandei translated for him.

“Before we eat, you must tell us of your latest adventure. We wish to know how you escaped the temple with your lives intact.”

* * *

Daenerys found herself getting lost in the story Jorah told of their recent expedition and even though she had been there herself, Jorah without a doubt had a talent for telling a story. Throughout the feast, many of the villagers were transfixed by what he was saying as Missandei translated for him; even Daenerys hung on his every word, despite knowing how the story ended.

Several hours and many stories later, Jorah attempted to leave the fireside and return to the hut, much to the disappointment of the villagers.

“Perhaps I can tell them some more tomorrow,” Jorah suggested, brushing the dust from his legs and stretching, trying to get the blood back into his limbs after sitting for so long. “Daenerys and I have decided that we will spend a few more days with you, if that’s ok?”

Missandei nodded. “The rest of the village will be most pleased.”

Jorah frowned. “We’ll stay on the condition that you allow us to pay our way. I will help the men hunt for food in the morning.”

“While that is not necessary, it is appreciated,” Missandei replied. “I am sure many of our men will be eager to learn of your weapons and how you use them,” she said, her eyes going to the empty holster Jorah was wearing.

Daenerys took Jorah’s proffered hand as he helped her to her feet. “Missandei, there is something Jorah and I have been meaning to ask you.”

With her hands held in front of her, Missandei bowed her head slightly. “Of course.”

“When we leave, we would like you to come with us.”

Missandei said nothing for a number of moments. “I am not sure I understand,” she eventually replied.

“We would like you to join us on our next expedition. In fact, all of our expeditions,” Daenerys clarified. “We certainly have need of someone who can both read and speak so many languages.”

“You wish to buy me?” Missandei asked.

Daenerys shook her head vehemently. “We wish you to join us and work with us. Anything of value that we discover will be split evenly between the three of us. We would like you to join us voluntarily, you would be free to leave at any time should you wish to return home.”

Missandei looked uncertain and it did not go unnoticed by the village elder, who spoke so loudly that the other villagers became silent, their eyes wide and fearful as she translated the traveller’s words.

“Our chief worries that there will be danger and that my safety cannot be guaranteed. What if I do not return home?”

Jorah stepped forward. “While we cannot guarantee there will not be danger ahead, I give you my word that I will protect you, guard you and give my life for yours if needs be.” His words were as sincere as his body language, perhaps the villagers would sense that, even if they did not understand the words he spoke.

Missandei turned towards the villagers. “Please,” she said as she walked away, “give us a few moments to discuss your terms.”

As they waited, Daenerys turned to Jorah and placed a hand on his cheek, smiling brightly at him. “You are a good man, Jorah,” she said looking him in the eye. “Honourable and true…you are a better man than many, never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He swallowed thickly. “Sometimes…when I look at you….I can’t quite believe you are real.”

She kissed his stubbled cheek. “This…you…I….this is real.”

The moment between them was broken as Missandei returned.

“We have known you only a short while, yet we are certain that you have great honour and we believe that what you say is true. The chief has told me that it is my choice as to whether I join you on your onwards journey.”

Daenerys nodded her head in deference. “We will not force you to come with us. We will not barter a price, you are not a slave. Your free will is your own. We only wish to have you join us for no other reason than because you want to.”

“I have given it much thought,” Missandei replied. “I have often wondered what lies beyond the borders of my home. I wish to visit foreign lands and bring hope and knowledge back to my people. I would like to join you on your journey for as long as you may have me.”

Daenerys looked at Jorah as he nodded his head, matching her smile with one of his own as they held hands. “Then it would be our honour, Missandei.”


End file.
